


Lazarus

by Bleed_Peroxide



Category: Banana Fish (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Anal Sex, Ash Lynx Lives, Banana Fish Ending Fix-It, Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, Light BDSM, M/M, Multi, Post-Canon Banana Fish, Post-Side Story: Garden of Light, Threesome - M/M/M, Yut-Lung Is Redeemed (somewhat)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-13
Updated: 2019-02-13
Packaged: 2019-10-27 07:05:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17762114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bleed_Peroxide/pseuds/Bleed_Peroxide
Summary: There was a mysterious portrait in Eiji’s room that Sing nor Ash had ever been able to understand.It was a painting of an elegant bird, with brilliant gold plumage and a long, sweeping tail. Beneath its feet lay a nest filled with a myriad of gems and gold coins, gleaming obscenely even as they were engulfed in flames. The bird appeared to be flying from this opulent nest, flames flickering from its tail as it ascended towards the heavens. Nestled in the clouds was a brilliant emerald-hued dragon, scales gleaming as it appeared to extend a claw towards the bird, as if in invitation.It also happened to be the one piece of art in their entire apartment that Eiji refused to explain.





	Lazarus

**Author's Note:**

  * For [atutsie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/atutsie/gifts).



> The prompt for this was simply post- _Garden of Light_ Sing/Eiji/Ash domestic fic with an established relationship. This is one of my favorite rarepairs to write, but I felt that a lot of backstory was needed to fulfill this request to my satisfaction. The amount ask for was.... a lot less than what I ended up writing, but we're thirsty in the "sea otter" boat. 
> 
> Some key things to hopefully avoid confusion:  
> \- All parties are well into their twenties (including Sing, who was 23 in _GOL_ ).  
> \- This is within the same "universe" as another Sing/Eiji/Ash fic, ["Trinity"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17118458), - that provides context of how they get together to begin with. It's not required, but it might add some context to things. :)  
> \- Kitchen 2018 is [just Kitchen 1987](https://i.imgur.com/OOLhcRe.png) with a modern twist and less bittersweet nostalgia.  
> \- Sing and Eiji [look notably different](https://pbs.twimg.com/media/Dl3cHeQVsAEL69W.jpg) than they do in the manga/anime. Sing is 6'3" and gorgeous, and Eiji has longer hair. (I love long-haired!Eiji, sorry.)  
> \- My characterization of Eiji (including his precise ESL speech) is based more on the manga "version" of him.  
> \- I'm a sucker for fics wherein Eiji and Yut-Lung make amends. Consider this a slight Yut-Lung Attones For His Bullshit AU. Also, I know Sing majored in business according to _GOL_ ; I changed that to keep another character from dying due to their continued gang ties.

 Eiji was, by nature, a rather sentimental person. There was something lush and decadent about his photography that made even Ash and Sing - generally disinterested in the affected jargon of the art world - understand why his work was said to have an “indescribable tenderness”. Eiji took pictures with brazen self-indulgence, as much for his satisfaction as it was to share a sliver of that with others.       

_"Photographs help you remember what the mind forgets,” Eiji had explained._ _“The_ _feeling, the way the air might have smelled, the timbre of one’s voice…. a picture can bring all these back.”_  

Ash never failed to be amazed how Eiji viewed the world - he discovered beauty and sensuality in the every day, capturing both with reckless abandon. He had visited Eiji’s art gallery a few weeks ago, sporting dyed hair and sunglasses to ensure he could peruse his lover’s work undisturbed. He had been embarrassed, then touched, then  _honored_ by how frequently he showed up in Eiji’s work.  

“A picture is worth a thousand words” - it was a saying Ash had once found trite. What words did a pedophile need as he feasted on a boy’s soul? Yet Eiji had always asked, always blushed endearingly as he did so. Never able to refuse him anything, Ash indulged his obsession with photographing the mundane occurrences that seemed to fascinate him the most. Sing was far less shy and thrived under the attention, boasting with pride how the latter had yet to capture his bad side.  

“You are both beautiful - no such thing exists,” Eji had refuted with a quiet laugh. He had lifted his chin as a silent request for Sing to give him a smile before the camera went off with a familiar  _click._  

To think that the sound should feel warm and intimate, like a pair of lips brushing his cheek, rather than as the portend to vultures picking at his ravaged carcass.  

Ash learned over time that these portraits were Eiji’s love language. While the Japanese man often tripped over his English when expressing himself, his photographs were lush and eloquent. There was a sense of tenderness in the lighting, in the angles chosen, that made one feel as though it was as much of an embrace as it was a portrait.  

Art critics had gravitated to one portrait in particular - whenever Ash found an article about Eiji, the infamous _Kitchen 2018_ was noted as a hallmark of his work. It had struck Ash as rather unnerving - he _was_ , after all, the subject of the photograph. His name was often brought up, typically pondering the relationship between a budding photographer and the “loneliest and most dangerous man in the City”.  

Eiji was careful to speak in past tense, to let Ash Lynx remain an urban legend so that his patron, Chris Winston, could thrive in his stead.  

The portrait showed Ash wearing little more than pajama bottoms and a towel wrapped around his damp hair, smirking at the viewer from the corner of his eye. Ash remembered Eiji had drawn his attention with a teasing remark as he gestured at his own mouth - “you have sauce here” - to which Ash swiped at it with his thumb and licked it away. The gesture had been playful, yet as Ash looked upon the photograph… even then, he mused, the then-unnamed tension between them was a fuse waiting to be lit.  

It was after Ash finally gathered the courage to read a stranger’s observations on this piece that he understood _why_ people were drawn to it.  

_There is a layer of subtle eroticism that the viewer cannot ignore - it is all in those emerald eyes that remain mischievous even as they smolder. A conversation borne of mutual desire, this deceptively innocent piece transcends the humble surroundings and otherwise unremarkable situation - cooking spaghetti - and leaves one speechless. It speaks of the domesticity of a married couple, the languid sexuality of a pair that makes love in the spur of the moment, free of pretense._  

He loved this glimpse of himself through Eiji’s eyes. He was no longer an untouchable porcelain doll, nor a nameless prostitute with dulled eyes. This Ash was goofy, inept at cooking, disheveled… yet still, Eiji found this unpolished version to be precious, just as desirable as whatever flawless veneer he covered himself with. 

Eiji had blushed to the roots of his hair as Ash read the critic’s review to him, unable to keep a theatrical note of pretension from his voice.  

“Must they make assumptions about whether we’ve had sex?” Eiji had whined, covering his face with his hands. “I am glad they understand the intention… but still, it is embarrassing that they speculate so intensely about it.”  

Sing had given him a positively lecherous grin and asked, “Are they lying? I recall Ash having to order out more than a few times because _someone_ wouldn’t let me finish making dinner.”   

“But Eiji, are you certain?” Ash asked gravely, imitating Sing’s rich baritone.  

“Sing, please, I need you, fuck-” Sing started in falsetto before the subject of his humiliation smacked him in the chest with a pillow.  

“See if I share any more pictures of you,” Eiji pouted. “Fuck both of you.”  

“Tempting, but that requires lots of lube and prep,” Ash added smoothly, receiving a pillow in the face as well for his sass. 

* * *

There was a simplistic, monochrome portrait of Sing in the gallery that Ash always found himself drawn to as well. It was a portrait of him in the gym with Cain Blood, both men chatting with carefree smiles and sweat-soaked tank tops. Eiji had chosen black-and-white to emphasize the beautiful differences in their skin tones -  Sing’s porcelain complexion juxtaposed with the rich onyx of Cain’s, statues of ancient gods carved from priceless stone.  

Sing had a barbell in one hand and had a bottle of water down clutched in the other.  The only hint of color in the entire portrait was a tantalizing droplet of water tinted vivid blue, running from the corner of his mouth down the curve of his neck.  

A far cry from the tiny spitfire barely reaching to Ash’s shoulder, Sing had blossomed into manhood with a muscled physique and strong jawline that made the blonde’s heart dance in his chest. While Ash had retained the willowy build of his youth, Sing was closer to Blanca’s size and - Ash realized now - reminded him of the curious pull he’d felt as a prickly boy of fourteen. 

_Lust_ , Ash had realized with a jolt. _That_ _‘pull’_ _is what desire feels like._  

That droplet of water was the first sip of a man guzzling water down a parched throat. Ash had nearly wept with joy - he’d thought the capacity for lust had been razed by fire before it ever had a chance to grow.  What a relief to know that even the scarred wasteland of his heart was capable of nourishing a single, tremulous sprout of desire - one untouched by uncaring hands. 

Critics were no less enamored with this portrait than the rest.  

_Okumura uses color - or the lack thereof - to draw stark comparisons between the two men in this unapologetically sensual photograph. As always, the eroticism is in the use of seemingly unremarkable details - sweat from a workout, an errant droplet of water down the throat - to transform the ordinary into the sublime. It is the blatant longing of a schoolgirl around an older brother’s friend, that sense of desire almost palpable._ _As if to give the viewer mercy from these sentiments, the portrait settles instead for drawing your eye to deceptively asexual details_ _._  

Most appropriately, Eiji had simply titled this one “ _Assoiffée_ ”. 

For once, Ash was glad that Dino made him learn French. 

* * *

There was a mysterious portrait in Eiji’s room that Sing nor Ash had ever been able to understand.  

It was a painting of an elegant bird, with brilliant gold plumage and a long, sweeping tail. Beneath its feet lay a nest filled with a myriad of gems and gold coins, gleaming obscenely even as they were engulfed in flames. The bird appeared to be flying from this opulent nest, flames flowing from its tail as it ascended towards the heavens. Nestled in the clouds was a brilliant emerald-hued dragon, scales gleaming as it appeared to extend a claw towards the bird, as if in invitation.  

It also happened to be the one piece of art in their entire apartment that Eiji refused to explain.  

Lacking another term for the cryptic variable in their midst, Sing called the painting “ _Feathers_ ”. It was meant to be a taunt, an insultingly uninspired name for a beautiful art piece. Seeming to sense Sing’s intentions, Eiji refused to rise to the bait and correct him.  

_Feathers_ drew their attention largely due to its advent. As if by magic, the bird had alighted into their apartment several weeks after what the three of them simply alluded to as Day Zero. 

For Ash, it was a hazy recollection centered around the acute pain in his abdomen. Day Zero carried the heavy smell of copper; it was the detached sensation of drifting through the aisles of the library like a ghost, like a breeze. Day Zero was Eiji’s chicken-scratch speckled with blood. 

For Sing, Day Zero was a blur of panic as he found Ash slumped in a chair, the puddle of blood at his feet at odds with that enigmatic smile. It was the claws of cold dread as he understood how closely Death held Ash in its embrace. Day Zero was the beginning of the journey to unravel the threads of Ash’s prior existence, of leaving a decoy to die on the mountain as they secreted its body to a place nobody could find.  

For Eiji, Day Zero was something he pretended to have forgotten. Ash could make educated guesses about Eiji’s feelings, namely in that he was remarkably reticent about them - in front of Ash, he did not cry nor chastise his suicidal brush with death.  

Eiji’s photos, however, spoke volumes. His works from that period were painfully restrained - a shot of what Ash recognized as his own hands, cupped gingerly in Max’s calloused palms or attached to a steady IV drip. While Eiji often experimented with simple black and white photos, there was a deliberate sense of emptiness in these shots.  

Looking through these photos worked as well as a calendar. Sing knew the day Ash emerged from his coma because Eiji’s photographs began to regain color. The first was simply a picture of a pair of pale lips in a tiny smile, almost shy, with the title “ _Okaeri_ ”. 

Eiji had no qualms explaining the meaning of this one - he’d even giggled as Ash’s tongue struggled with the foreign syllables.   

“ _Welcome home_ ,” he explained, pressing a reverent kiss to Ash’s knuckles, to which Sing encased both men’s hands with his own and added a kiss of his own.  

“ _Okaeri_ ,” Sing had repeated back, giving both hands a light squeeze.  

It had felt like a sacrament;  Sing then understood with perfect clarity why divinity and witchcraft were assigned in threes. There was an undercurrent of something deeper that made his senses tingle with premonition, as they held one another’s hands like lifelines. Three syllables became an incantation, a vow between three small, broken beings.  

Yet as time passed, as their apartment became a home and their lives intertwined like a tapestry….  _Feathers_ remained the mystery hanging innocuously in Eiji’s room.  

They had stared at this picture for five years now, no closer to an explanation than the day that it had been placed on the wall.  

“If you speak of a wish, it will not come true,” was the closest they had ever gotten to an explanation.  

It was meant to be a sheepish admission of superstition, but in the back of Ash’s mind, all he heard is that they had lived with Eiji this long…. yet the older man still yearned for something he hardly dared to name. 

* * *

Ash should have realized that, like everything in his life, changes were governed by serendipity. His days had become a stark contrast to those of Eiji and Sing.  

Sing jokingly referred to Ash as a “house husband” - he spent much of his time in their Manhattan condominium, reading books on whatever topic caught his interest or watching documentaries. He had earned two degrees online, largely out of a desire to have something to do with his days than a compulsion to actually use them. The funds he’d pocketed from Dino were more than enough to sustain them for a few lifetimes.  

“Don’t you get bored, being cooped up all day?” Eiji had asked. He was no doubt thinking back on the weeks he’d spent as a willing prisoner in the condo, taking photographs all day.  

_You’re a lynx, aren’t you?_  

To Ash, their apartment didn’t feel like a cage. He was content to live like a house cat, spending his days curled up on the couch in his favorite patch of sunlight. _Choosing_ to live as a peaceful recluse, _choosing_ to learn something “useless” simply because it interested him…. these were priceless freedoms that he’d never dreamed he could have. After a lifetime of being trapped in the din of his mind, it was a blessing to reduce the noise to the two people whose presence he not only endured but _w_ _elcomed_.  

He left the bustling about to Sing and Eiji.  

Eiji was often rushing from an art exhibit to one of his photography gigs; Ash often wondered if the man was terrified of standing still, as he seemed to constantly book his schedule solid with hardly a minute to breathe from one obligation to the next. So Ash took it upon himself to provide an element of whimsy to Eiji’s hectic lifestyle - it became a game for Ash could sneak into a show of his unannounced, seeing how long it took Eiji to see through one of his disguises.  

Conversely, Sing spent much of his time at CUNY - first as a student before, in perhaps the most bizarre change in circumstance, as a victim’s advocate.  

To think the haphazard ringleader of the Chinese mafia would have a legitimate college degree, that he actually pulled himself out of the gutter and  _made_ something of himself. The same shrimp that had tried to avenge Shorter with a flying dagger was the same tall, striking man that left each day in business casual and a sense of purpose in his steps. It was clear that Sing found purpose in his work, though Ash couldn’t make sense of it.  

He’d heard the hissed conversations Sing had on his cell phone, the smattering of English and Cantonese making it evident that even Yut-Lung found his choice bizarre.  

“Why forensic psychology? I would have assumed you’d go into business,” Ash finally asked. “You’re a smart kid” - he couldn’t help but smirk at the way Sing’s eye twitched at the jab to his pride - “but I would’ve thought running a gang was enough babysitting to last you a lifetime.” 

Sing’s eyes had remained fixed on the cutting board, chopping another apple with practiced ease. The calm domesticity of the scene was at odds with the heaviness of his tone, as though he’d had the same conversation with himself a thousand times before.  

“Not everyone endures the same things you did and makes it out alive,” Sing answered, offering Ash a smile that bordered on the apologetic. “I know you don’t like to use the _v_ -word, so I won’t. But if I can prevent the necessity of another Ash Lynx, then I’m happy.”  

The stark honesty in those words left Ash speechless for a moment, brushing delicately against a raw spot in his heart. Not for the first time, Ash couldn’t help but wonder how fine of a line separated  _Ash Lynx_ from  _Aslan Callenreese_ . In the first few years, it had been a guessing game each morning - would  Ash Lynx stare back at him in the mirror, with cold eyes and phantom memories of blood staining his hands? Or would it be Aslan, soft-spoken and happiest with his nose in a book?  

Ash had spent so long protecting Aslan that he’d almost forgotten who he was…. it was only with Sing and Eiji’s patient nurturing that Aslan finally felt safe enough to peek from behind the wall, meek as a child. Yet he still wondered - was Ash merely the product of trauma, or was Aslan just a pretty array of flowers to cover up a graveyard?  

Where did Ash end and Aslan begin? He felt as though his array of disguises extended beyond the frivolous attire he wore to amuse Eiji - as if even Aslan himself were just another persona to be donned at will, a role played with far too much desperation before someone forced him to rip off the mask.  

“It scares me when you say things like that,” Ash admitted. “I can’t blame everything I did on being a victim. I’m still a murderer, Sing. Just because I’m…. I dunno, a _tamed beast_ or whatever doesn’t absolve me of the things I’ve done.” 

Sing set down the knife, meeting Ash’s eyes with an intensity in his gaze that made his mouth go dry. Though it had amused Ash when they were teen boys to see such fire in someone so small, it had an altogether  _different_ effect on him when he had to look up to meet that same gaze. It made Ash remember how Sing looked at him with similar intensity a breath before their lips clashed into a kiss, the way Sing said with his hands what he sometimes lacked the words to articulate in spoken language.  

In a few steps, he closed the distance between them and pulled Ash into his arms.  

He could never get over how perfectly Sing’s body seemed to overwhelm him, the way being encased in the scent of cologne and lavender detergent felt like home.  Resting his cheek against Sing’s chest, he closed his eyes and took in his familiar aroma, the strong and steady beat of his heart.  

“You’re still Ash Lynx, the terror of Manhattan that fascinated me when I was too young to understand the reason why,” Sing murmured, the low rumble of his voice seeming to reverberate through Ash’s entire body. “And you’re _still_ Aslan, the person you could have been had people not stolen him from you so early.”  

Ash felt a hand gently nudge his chin upwards, the touch having just enough force behind it to make his heart stutter in his chest. Sing leaned forward and Ash met him halfway, the brush of their lips like punctuation, an affirmation. Still, Ash reveled in the way tendrils of heat thread through him at the touch. 

“I love  _all_ of you - Ash, Aslan, whoever else you evolve to become in the future. When I say I don’t want another Ash Lynx, I mean a child robbed of a chance to be a  _child_. I can at least hope that nobody else has to go through similar things.”  

“I met you, and I met Eiji,” Ash replied, meeting Sing’s eyes with a smile. “I don’t think that all of it was bad - it led me to you two. I consider myself lucky.”  

“I’m luckier,” Sing quipped back, the serious expression from before softening into something more playful, the heat in his gaze simmering into something Ash understood quite thoroughly. 

Ash leaned back from Sing’s embrace, resting his weight on his arms as he reclined against the counter. It was a blatant invitation, showcasing the lean line of his body at its most flattering angle; it was the beckoning finger of a courtesan as she whispered _c_ _ome hither_.  

Though Ash had used such body language countless times in the past, it had never given him such a heady feeling of control to watch lust blossom in another man’s eyes. He _w_ _anted_ Sing to desire him, wanted to feel those rough hands run down his body and make it burn. 

Sing unconsciously wet his lips, yearning but waiting.  

“Words are cheap,” the blonde teased, running a finger idly down his chest. “Don’t just _tell_ me how lucky you are.” He made sure to catch Sing’s hungry gaze, knowing already that he had a rapt audience.  

“Show me.”  

Sing let out a sound halfway between a groan and a sigh, bracing a hand on the counter next to Ash while the other cupped around the nape of his neck. Calloused fingers became tangled in blonde strands as Sing pulled him into a desperate kiss, almost bruising in its intensity - Ash’s knees turned to jelly, and he clutched the starched cotton of Sing’s shirt as an anchor.  

He traced his tongue along the seam of Sing’s lips until the other man obliged, opening his mouth and allowing Ash to dip his tongue inside with a groan of relief. He was rewarded by the fingers in his hair tightening, rough just the way that he liked it, and he tipped his head further to deepen their kisses.   

_More, more, more._ It was never enough. Ash felt as though he were drowning, a small whimper escaping him; had it been with anyone else, he would have humiliated by how needy it sounded. The way that Sing would suck lightly along his lower lip or traced the inside of his mouth with his tongue…. Ash never knew he’d enjoyed kissing until his lovers had taught him the simple enjoyment of it. He could spend hours doing just that, relishing the way they could make him come apart so easily.  

Chuckling in his throat, Sing broke their kiss with a light tug at Ash’s hair that caused the other to gasp - only for it to shift into a breathy moan as Sing’s lips burned a path down the exposed column of Ash’s throat.  

His neck, as they’d discovered, was _extremely_ sensitive - as Sing sucked on the skin and left rosy blooms in their wake, he was nearly almost dizzy with want. Sing’s fingers ran whisper-light along his thighs, brushing against the insistent throb in his groin teasingly before resuming their touches to far less dangerous territory.  

“Sing, please,” Ash plead mindlessly, not even sure what exactly he was begging for. Relief, perhaps, for more, for _mercy_ …?  

Sing peeled Ash’s shirt up his chest, tongue flicking out to trace delicate circles around rosy nipples before trailing down the exposed length of his torso. Ash shuddered as a violent jolt of pleasure shot up his spine, which only intensified as those exploratory touches along his thighs became more intentional, cupping the arousal between his legs.  

Ash arched into the touch as he murmured meaningless words of need. He caught a glimpse of himself in the reflection of the sliding glass door, and for a moment, he simply marveled at the creature staring back at him. The man meeting his gaze pressed himself brazenly into the hand between his legs, seeking even more; this man offered his body like a starved succubus.  

He marveled at the way this blonde devil smiled with languid desire, with the lazy bliss of a man secure that giving his body over promised only satisfaction.  

Ash heard the rustle of clothing, and looking down, he saw that Sing had lowered himself to his knees, hands splayed on each of Ash’s thighs. He felt heat pool in his groin at what his posture suggested, and Ash threaded a hand affectionately through Sing’s slicked-back hair. 

“Can I?” Sing asked with a playful smile, and despite himself, Ash can’t help but return it. Sing and Eiji always asked permission - no matter how much Ash melted in their hands, no matter how desperately his body language screamed _yes_ …. they always asked.  

“Of course,” he responded, to which Sing undid the top button and pulled down the zipper with a breathless kind of reverence, as though unwrapping a gift. He pulled down Ash’s boxers just below his hips, running the tip of his tongue along the length of Ash’s exposed cock experimentally before giving a teasing flick at the tender slits.  

Ash dared to glance down, meeting a pair of dark eyes that glinted with mischief. Sing, he had learned, loved to torture him and make him beg. While Eiji was sweet with Ash and downright _slutty_ with Sing, Sing was the type that loved to make their resolve shatter into a thousand pieces. 

“You’re not gonna make me beg, are you?” Ash panted. 

Sing shook his head. “Nope, just enjoying a small sample first. You asked so nicely, after all.”  

Before Ash could think up a retort back, the grip on his thighs tightened Sing slackened his jaw and took in his throbbing cock. Ash sucked in air through his teeth, gripping Sing’s hair in a way that he was sure had to be edging on painful - yet Sing only laughed, the sound muffled as he started to drag his lips and tongue along the length.   

Ash let out a gasp that might have been a half-thought plea to God, a reverent invocation of Sing’s name - at this point, they were one in the same. The heat of Sing’s mouth felt like utter heaven, his ministrations slow and thorough - almost worshipful. Yet despite how good it felt, Sing sucked him off with almost greedy desperation, as though there were nowhere in the world he wanted to be than on his knees with Ash in his mouth. At some points, he lifted his mouth completely from Ash’s length with a small, wet pop, only to run his tongue along it before taking Ash into that wanton heat once more. He was nothing if not thorough, and Ash realized that he’d devolved from muted sighs to full on _moaning_ \- yet he couldn’t bring himself to feel terribly embarrassed.  

Judging from the pleased hums that they pulled out of Sing, Ash knew that was precisely what he wanted to hear.  

Ash felt as though he were approaching a summit, the warmth of orgasm already coiling in his groin as Sing’s skilled tongue pulled him apart by the seams. Ash tipped his head back as he surrendered and let himself get overwhelmed,  muscles tightening as he murmured Sing's name like a prayer.  

“Sing, wait, I’m gonna-” he protests weakly, realizing almost too late that he had yet to even touch Sing, let alone be in any place to reciprocate.  

Sing made a small noise in the negative -  _don’t talk with your mouth full,_  Ash wanted to chide him - and only sucked with greater gusto, head bobbing along the length in a rhythm that made Ash see stars behind his lids. He took Ash all the way down, nose nearly buried in the blonde patch of pubic hair; he felt the tip of his cock press into the back of Sing’s throat, though if it caused Sing any discomfort, he didn’t show it. Resisting the urge to thrust mindlessly into that welcoming heat, Ash carded his fingers through Sing’s hair and brushing his bangs from his face - a wordless show of appreciation. The feeling of Sing’s head between his hands moving intensified the sensation even more, made him that much more aware of what was being done to him.  

Ash’s orgasm almost startled him with how quickly and suddenly it crashed upon him, his mind shattering in white noise as his lips part in a muted cry. His hands scrambled for purchase on Sing’s shoulders, body curling upon itself as the aftershocks of his orgasm rippled through him. The hands on his hips loosened their grip, instead stroking his thighs and helping Ash through post-coital shivers even as Sing milked the last bits of gratification from him.  

Getting up from his knees, Sing brought Ash to his chest wordlessly once more, content to let the blonde sag against him as his mind and limbs tingled pleasantly with the aftermath. Ash closed his eyes and rode the waves as they rocked through him, Sing’s scent a grounding presence to bring him back down from the clouds.  

“I didn’t even get to touch you,” Ash lamented, running a finger idly along Sing’s chest. He focused the pads of his fingertips along a pert nipple, solid even through the fabric of his shirt, and relished the sharp intake of breath that it drew out of Sing.  

“Don’t do that,” he answered in a rush, removing Ash’s hand as though it’d burnt him.  

It might as well have been a slap in the face.  

Something cracked in Ash’s chest, clearing away some of the post-coital contentment that had clouded his reasoning just moments before. Sing never turned him down; Ash wondered if he’d done something wrong, if he’d been too quick to bask in his own pleasure instead of fighting harder to reciprocate. It brushed against at a pathetic, vulnerable corner of his heart, making him feel like a child playing at being a seductress and found wanting.  

“Did I do something wrong?” he ventured to ask, adding a teasing lilt to hide the way insecurity often made his voice shake.  _Don’t ruin it, don’t be stupid, don’t ruin it…_  

The younger man placed a kiss to Ash’s forehead. A simple gesture, yet it seemed he understood why Ash had asked, soothing the bruise to his pride. 

“Oh no, it’s nothing like that. Y’see…. I’m not really…  _allowed_ to finish,” Sing stated.  

Well, that certainly wasn’t the response Ash had expected. Jade eyes snapped up to meet chestnut brown, waiting for a punchline that never came.  

“What do you mean,  _not allowed_? Says who?” Ash tucked himself back into his boxers before wriggling his way into his jeans, smoothing out any creases and evidence of what had just transpired.  

Not that Eiji would have minded - if anything, it would only stir up his appetite.  

“Eiji and I…. might have made a bet. Whoever comes first loses.”  

Despite having just finished, Ash’s cock twitched with interest.  

“The prize must be a good one if you willing to sacrifice yours truly returning the favor.”  

“You bet. If I win, he has to explain the deal with  _Feathers_.”  

A snort of laughter escaped Ash - of all the things… 

“He hasn’t said a word about that thing since the day he got it. But he’s willing to spill the beans if you can make him come? Isn’t that a little…” 

Disappointing? Juvenile? Ash wasn’t sure why he didn’t feel happier. Perhaps it was because Eiji had placed such significance in its secrecy that he came to expect that it would come to light in a more romantic way. He envisioned the three of them talking about it over a candlelit dinner, on the beach, or someplace meaningful.  

That Eiji should end his silence for what amounted to a high school bet bordered on the sacrilegious.  

Sing laced his fingers lightly through Ash’s, leading him from the kitchen - _what about the apples?_ Ash wondered with a flicker of concern - to the living room. Sing settled himself on the far end of the couch while Ash lounged perpendicular from him. He rested his feet on Sing’s thighs with a mischievous smirk, to which the latter only took a foot in his hand and massaged the arch idly, as much giving him something to do with his hands as it was to work the tension out.  

It was an old and familiar routine. Ash would have felt bad if he didn’t notice the amused quirk of Sing’s lips every time he did so. Both understood the unspoken conversation beneath it, a shy request to be pampered that Ash could only convey under the pretense of brattiness.  

Sing would preserve Ash’s pride and respond with a teasing tone, “Yes, your highness.” 

The fondness in his smile said much more clearly,  _Thank you for trusting me enough to ask._  

“Eiji said something kind of interesting,” Sing continued. “‘You can’t make a wish happen if you just wait around for it.’ I think that whatever it is that picture means to him, it’s something that’s taken him close to five years to bringing to fruition. My guess is that at this point, the bet was more of an excuse than anything.”  

“Besides,” and his lips curled into a slightly guilty smile, “he saw that I snuck in a box a few weeks ago, and kept pestering me about it. I _might_ have given him a taste of his own medicine by playing the ‘wishes’ card.”  

Ash’s eyes narrowed at that - he spent most of his days at the condo and hadn’t noticed Sing bringing home anything noteworthy. Whatever it was, Sing was obviously keeping it a secret from Ash, too.  

“I don’t suppose you’re gonna tell me what it is, either,” Ash remarked dryly.  

Sing gave Ash’s toe a pinch.  

“Not until I win our bet. A man has his pride after all.”  

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” another voice chimed in, all sing-song and innocence.  

Both of their heads turned at the direction of the noise. To their surprise, Eiji had entered the condo without so much as making a sound, locking the door behind him and hanging his coat on the line of hooks so stealthily that even Yut-Lung would have been impressed.  

_Then again, he does spend a lot of time around him these days. Perhaps the snake’s rubbing off on the little rabbit._  

Eiji strode over the couch, lifting Ash’s legs for a moment to settle in between Sing and Ash - not for the first time, Ash noted how petite he looked when sandwiched between the two of them. Eiji all but melted against Sing, resting his cheek against the other’s bicep. Eiji carefully placed Ash’s legs on top of his own once more, running the tips of his fingers along the other’s thighs with just enough pressure to feel pleasant rather than arousing.  

Both men used casual displays of physical affection the way another might gesture with their hand or nod, punctuating their speech with a kiss or with a light touch at the small of his back. Even now, a perfect stranger could expect his claws if they touched his arm without permission; with Sing and Eiji, he may as well have been a purring tabby, shamelessly offering his belly to whoever offered.  

Ash wondered when a man touching him with such familiarity made him feel at home in his own body, rather than leaving him with a desperate need to scrub it raw.  

“So what was all this about pride, Sing?” Eiji prompted. “I’ve never seen you so determined to win. And over a silly painting of a bird, no less.”  

Ash rolled his eyes. They’d had this discussion countless times. 

“We wouldn’t care so much if you weren’t so secretive about it, Eiji.” 

“I would have spoken sooner if you were not so desperate,” Eiji fired right back. “To think that Sing would agree to such a horrible bet simply to learn about a bird.”  

Sing, who had been watching this banter with feigned neutrality, hooked a finger lightly around Eiji’s chin to tilt his head up, meeting his eyes with an impish smile. The touch was light, more theater than any real act of dominance…. but knowing Eiji as he did, the effect was immediate. Eiji’s cocky smirk melted into something bordering worshipful, his body leaning towards Sing’s as though under a spell, lips parted with blatant longing.  

“Who are you to call me desperate,” Sing purred, his voice low and rich like syrup. Even Ash felt himself shiver at the change in the pitch of his voice, the mood shifting from playful to more provocative. Sing ran a finger lightly along the curve of Eiji’s jaw, seeming to relish the way the other man's eyes drifted shut, before running the pad of his thumb against his lower lip.  

“You call  _me_ desperate… and here you are, begging for it.” He sampled his prize with an open-mouthed kiss to Eiji’s neck, which drew out a trembling gasp; the hands that had been tracing idle patterns on Ash’s thighs stilled their progress, twitching as Sing’s tongue darted out for a small taste. Lacking Ash’s habit of tampering down his own lust, Eiji tipped his head to the side and offered himself without a shred of hesitation.  

“That’s a nice look on you,” Ash teased, surprised at how husky his own voice sounded. “But I think we should take these off if we wanna see it better.” He removed Eiji’s glasses carefully, sliding them off before setting them on the side table. There was something irresistible about the way that Eiji looked so innocent and scholarly with his glasses…. and how removing them felt as intimate as removing an article of clothing.  

Sing met Ash’s gaze for a moment, the shared glance of accomplices.  

“That’s much better,” Sing continued, eyes fixed on Ash as he pressed another heated kiss to the column of Eiji’s throat - and god, stark desire hit Ash like a wave, almost overpowering. There was a hunger in his gaze that promised something delicious - while Ash was treated like a prince when they had sex, Sing and Eiji enjoyed playing a game of surrender and dominion.  

_Watch me take him apart, Ash. I know you enjoy watching it as much as I enjoy doing it._  

Having hit the threshold of his patience playing the coquettish virgin, Eiji untangled himself from Ash’s legs and, in a practiced motion, settled himself on either side of Sing’s thighs. He laced his arms around Sing’s neck, leaving Sing free to run his hands along Eiji’s torso as though sizing up a meal. The way he licked his lips hungrily, the way Eiji arched into the touch with a subdued whine…. it was clear that whatever bet they’d had was off the tables now.  

Ash hadn’t realized he was holding his breath with expectation until he felt himself let out a shuddering sigh.  

Eiji brought Sing’s mouth to his greedily,  slender finger cupping Sing’s face as though claiming him. Considering the difference in their sizes, it was almost endearing how Eiji played at the aggressor - as though to remind him of this, Sing pulled Eiji’s strands from its hair tie with a deft motion of his fingers, threading his own hand through longer locks with a much firmer grip.  

The older man slackened visibly at the touch, eyelids fluttering with unmistakable bliss. Sing scrutinized his reaction carefully, hand subtly tightening their grip as Eiji’s head lolled on his shoulders and his body became pliant and willing.  

When Eiji practically sagged against Sing’s chest, that’s when the latter pulled just hard enough to elicit a startled yelp - though it was far huskier than a sound made strictly from pain.  

The first few times Ash had seen this reaction from Eiji, it had terrified him. He’d never seen someone flip from bratty to utterly submissive with a simple touch, let alone with such abandon. It had taken him picking up on the more subtle signs of arousal from both sides, or the way that Sing surveyed all of these reactions carefully, that Ash began to feel curiosity rather than concern at their style of play.  

There was an almost obscene flush to Eiji’s cheeks that made it abundantly clear that he enjoyed the rougher treatment.  

“Sing, please, I’ve been waiting all day,” Eiji pleaded, his voice airy in a way that only emerged when he was in that docile headspace.  

Sing cradled Eiji’s face in his hands, the touch equal parts possessive and tender. His tone, too, had shifted into something both calming and authoritative - though Ash was merely feet away, he felt at that moment that the two of them had fallen into their own private universe, if only for a moment. The way they fell into one another at these times made Ash think of a dance, Eiji trusting with his mind and his body that Sing would guide him through the motions as he obediently let himself be carried along.   

With Eiji surrendering so sweetly, it was easy for Sing to be unabashed with the way he handled Eiji’s body. One hand gripped Eiji by the chin, guiding their lips to yet another kiss as the other cupped the curve of Eiji’s bottom in a way that could only be described as greedy. Eiji sighed into Sing’s mouth and ground himself against Sing’s hand, seeking more.  

Sing gingerly lowered Eiji’s chin with his hand, parting it just enough to slip his tongue inside. This seemed to startled Eiji out of his lust-drunk haze enough to pull away a few inches. He met Sing’s eyes with a sly smirk before looking at Ash through lowered lids.  

It was the knowing smile of an incubus.  

“You taste like Ash, ” he remarked, all the while holding Ash’s eyes in a way that made it impossible to look away. It took the blonde a few moments to realize precisely what Eiji was referring to.  

“Yup. Just because we had a bet doesn’t mean Ash has to suffer for it.”  

“How generous of you. But still, I’m not quite satisfied,”  Eiji cooed, winking at Ash before dipping his tongue into Sing’s mouth once again, closing his eyes and seeming to drown in Sing’s kisses. Sing moaned quietly as Eij eagerly sought more, the sounds of their tongues trading that illicit flavor - of tasting  _him_ , savoring the evidence of his pleasure - easily one of the sexiest things Ash had ever heard.  

The younger man’s hands slid to the hairs around the nape of his neck, holding him in place as he gently stole the reins and brought Eiji back to the lush headspace he’d drifted into before. His lips left Eiji’s to mark his territory with rapacious kisses, teething nipping at the tender flesh before soothing it with his lips and tongue.  

The sounds that fell from Eiji’s lips were not so much words as half-thought syllables, fractured Japanese and whimpers that made Ash swallow against a mouth that had gone dry.  

Ash noticed Sing’s fingers brush curiously in the cleft of Eiji’s ass, as though unsure of what he was feeling.  

“You wore a plug?” Sing asked, a note of awe in his voice.  

_Jesus christ, Eiji,_ Ash thought with no small amount of wonder. The idea of Eiji going about his business, wearing something like that, gave Ash a myriad of obscene ideas.  

Eiji lifted himself to his knees for a moment, sliding his jeans and boxers to mid-thigh without preamble before reaching around behind himself. He emerged with the bright-purple object in question in hand, tossing it to the side carelessly. He rolled his naked hips against the growing bulge in Sing’s shorts with a positively wicked grin, which only widened as Sing let out a hushed swear at the contact. 

“I wanted to be ready, so you could fuck me as soon as possible,” the Japanese man answered, his voice a little too breathless to sound as saccharine as he wished. 

Hearing Eiji use such vulgar language was like setting fire a fuse - especially to Sing, whose breath visibly caught in his chest.  

Eiji’s hands migrated to the zipper of Sing’s jeans, sliding it down with a sound that - in the pregnant silence of the living room - sounded almost thunderous. Sing helped with the rest of the process, shuffling his own underwear and jeans to his knees with such obvious haste that Ash would have typically laughed. As it was, he felt too intoxicated with the intensity of his own lust to feel much else.  

Sing aligned himself with Eiji’s entrance, teasing the sensitive hole with the head of his cock but…. hesitated.  

“What is it?”  

“Do you need-?” Sing began to ask, but Eiji put a finger to his lips to stop him.  

“I spent the entire day wishing that was you, Sing. I want the real thing.”  

“Manners, Eiji. You know how to ask, don’t you?”  

“Please, Sing, I need you to fuck me.”  

“Good boy.”  

With that, Sing thrust up into Eiji, burying himself to the hilt with one swift motion. His eyes rolled back in his head for a moment as he accustomed himself to the sensation, hands gripping Eiji’s hips with nearly bruising force to steady the both of them.  

“ _Shit_ , Eiji,” he swore under his breath. “You feel incredible.” His fingers fanned out against Eiji’s hip bones, thrusting into the slender body above him with gasps that, to Ash, were almost musical. Sing was surprisingly quiet given how talkative he was any other time - he wasn’t the type to that would moan as readily as Eiji, who articulated shamelessly. The only other noise was the lewd sound of skin meeting skin, their willing abstinence adding desperation to their coupling that ensured neither would last terribly long.  

Ash must have spaced out at some point, for the feeling of Eiji’s fingers curling into his shirt and pulling him forward shocked him out of a stupor he hadn’t realized he’d slipped into. He ended up falling onto his knees, catching himself on Eiji’s shoulders to avoid landing on his face entirely.  

Glancing up, he was met with a lidded gaze as Eiji trailed his hand along Ash’s chest. The other hand remained in a vice grip on Sing’s shoulder.  

“Kiss me, Ash. I… I  want to kiss you when we come.”  

He was a demanding creature when in the throes of pleasure.  

“You’ll come first if you do that,” Sing panted, angling his hips in a way that made Eiji’s hand curl into a fist in Ash’s shirt.  

“I don’t care,  _please_ .”  

Ash cupped his hands around Eji’s cheeks, pulling him into a messy kiss - Eiji’s panting and the jostling of his body made it difficult to do so with any degree of elegance, but neither found it in themselves to care.  There was something unbearably erotic about Eiji moaning into his kisses as Sing fucked him mercilessly, as though he were consuming them.  

Ash felt rather than saw Eiji’s climax ripple through him, evidenced by the sudden tautness in his body and a muffled cry in Ash’s mouth, followed by Sing not long afterward as he curled forward and bit into Eiji’s shoulder to muffle his own cries.  

For a moment, there was nothing but Sing and Eiji’s panting as they slowly came down, Ash rubbing soothing circles on Eiji’s back as the latter ran a hand through Sing’s hair. Sing was content to rest his head against Eiji’s shoulder, kissing the crescent-shaped indent he’d left by way of apology…. even if Eiji made it know n how much he cherished such souvenirs.  

While Sing and Eji collected their breath, Ash went over the restroom and found a little box of wipes tucked next to the cabinet. He brought it back with him to the living room, silently cleaning the both of them off with soft, steady motions that were met with grateful smiles. Ash was far fussier about clean-up than either of them, and knowing his reasoning, both indulged his need to perform this particular kind of aftercare.  

That finished, he went into the kitchen to make them both a cup of tea as they wriggled back in into their clothing - or, at the least, pulled their boxers back on as the jeans were cast to the side. There wasn’t much of a need for further propriety, as guests were a rare event.  

The three settled back onto the couch, though with looser limbs than before. The silence stretched between them, though not unpleasantly.  

“So….” Ash began, unsure of a more graceful way to really broach the elephant - or rather, the bird - in the room. “You technically were the first one, Eiji, so…”  

“Oh, right. Your so-called _Feathers_ ,” he murmured, voice dreamy with post-coital bliss. “To be honest, I am surprised that Sing has not caught on to its meaning, given the source. It was, after all, a gift from your former boss.”  

Ash felt as though the floor had dropped from beneath him. That bird painting was from the baby snake? While the relationship between them had mended over the years, it was hard to imagine Eiji being in a position to accept a gift from Yut-Lung when Ash was still recovering from a nearly fatal wound…. courtesy of  _his_ scheming.  

“Well, for lack of a better way to put it, I’m not exactly purebred,” Sing replied, scratching his chin with what Ash could only interpret as either thoughtfulness or an embarrassed body tick. “It’s hard to really give a rat’s ass about your grandmother’s mythology when you have a hard enough time feeding yourself in the real world.”  

Embarrassment, then. Sing was fiercely proud of his Chinese heritage, though he wasn’t as intimately acquainted with it as Yut-Lung, who had been born and raised in the mainland. Ash didn’t pretend to understand the intricacies of the culture, but he’d heard enough from Shorter to know that there were complicated feelings that resided between those from the mainland and those raised by immigrant parents.  

“Well, as you know, it was given to me after Ash…erm, got back from the hospital.” There was a tiny hitch in Eiji’s voice, nearly imperceptible. “As I said before, it was from Yut-Lung. I did not understand his intention at first - why would someone like him give me something this expensive? I worried it was poisoned, it had some kind of device, it had a bomb…. I did not know what he was planning. I did not believe that he was serious when he said he meant it as an… a branch?”  

“An olive branch?” Sing suggested. “I spoke with him more often than you did. I’m sure you know this by now, but he had far greater regrets about what happened than most realize.”  

“I would not have accepted his apology, nor his friendship, if I did not feel he had regrets. What convinced me is that he did not ask me to kill him again, but instead asked how to atone; it is much easier to choose to die. He said that he put his wishes into the painting, based on a Chinese saying: 'When the dragon soars and the phoenix dances, the people will enjoy happiness for years, bringing peace and tranquility to all under heaven.’”  

“The dragon and phoenix… there’s more to it, I think,” Ash added, noting the way Eiji’s cheeks flushed.  

Eiji pointed a finger to Sing, and then to Ash. The latter raised an eyebrow, not sure what exactly  he  meant by it.  

Sing blew on his tea, however, mulling it over. Despite his previous statement, something about that quote appeared to have triggered a memory. 

“The dragon…. it’s generally a masculine symbol. It means strength, good luck, success, power, and to ward off evil spirits.” Sing noted this latter part with quotation marks, tone sarcastic. “The phoenix - well, that’s the sign of rebirth. Same as the West. It means beauty and opportunity, turning good luck to bad luck.”  

“And you claim you don’t know your granny’s mythos,” Ash teased, to which Sing stuck out his tongue like a child.  

Eiji again pointed to Sing, and then to Ash, his smile widening.  

“Sing - the dragon. Masculine, strong, warding off the wicked. Ash - born from the ashes, a new life, and beautiful.”  

He joined his hands together, lacing the fingers. He seemed to struggle with his following words, embarrassment deepening the blush on his cheeks. Whatever he was about to say, it seemed that it was the very thing he’d spent half a decade holding close to his chest.  

“Yut-Lung also said there is another meaning - the dragon and phoenix together are the ultimate symbol of love, of married happiness. They balance each other - the dragon, masculine, ying. The phoenix, feminine, yang. Together, they represent a happy marriage. This picture is you, it is Sing - the phoenix has flown the nest, flying to be with the dragon in the clouds. Free to fly as he wishes.”   

Ash hadn’t realized tears were flowing from his eyes until he tasted salt on his lips, swallowing against the sudden lump in his throat.  

“What does this have to do with you, though?” Sing asked, his voice wavering as he blinked rapidly, trying not to cry. “He meant this as an apology, yet-” 

“The clouds,” Ash answered with a small laugh. “The first day we met, Eiji pole-vaulted over a wall to save us…. he’s always known how to fly. Why else would the phoenix fly out of its nest?”  

To both their surprise, Sing let out a laugh that sounded almost delirious given the gravity of the situation. Ash and Eiji looked at one another quizzically, unsure if they had missed something important.  

“Here I am sneaking around with a box, and we’ve had a goddamn wedding portrait in the apartment for five years,” he finally replied, wiping the tears from his eyes. “Wait a minute, lemme grab Eiji’s side of the bet.”  

With that, he got up from the couch and nearly ran to the bedroom, rummaging in the side dresser. He emerged with a black velvet box, making Ash’s nerves sing with premonition.  

Sing stood in front of Ash and Eiji, opening the box with both hands and… 

…got down on one knee before the both of them.  

_Is he…?_  

The universe seemed to stand still, all other meaningless minutiae of their day-to-day lives erased as his entire being was attuned to the warmth of Eiji pressed against his side, the way Sing’s smile had a nervous edge that made Ash want to kiss it away. He knew down to his very bones that before them was the same kind of impending paradigm shift as so many years ago, with three broken teenagers clasping hands in a sterile hospital room.  

“I have no idea how it works with more than one person, but then, nothing about our relationship really fits the normal definitions anyway,” he began, a skittish giggle escaping that made Ash’s heart twinge in his chest. He’d never seen Sing so anxious.  

He opened the boxed, and found within it three simple gold bands tucked within.  

“I-I realize it’s probably a bit cheesy, and I wasn’t sure how you feel about the idea of it at all, but then I was thinking with that  _Feathers_ portrait-” 

“The answer’s yes, Sing,” Ash cut in, kissing him soundly on the lips. “Yes to you, and yes to Eiji. A thousand times, yes.”  

Eiji only offered Sing a watery smile, to which Sing engulfed him in that all-compressing embrace that made any place in the world feel like home. Sing took the first ring and slid it onto Ash’s left hand, biting his lip to tide his tears in such an endearing way that Ash let out an undignified sniffle. 

“Hot,” Sing tried to tease, though his voice was too shaky to add any real bite to it. He then took the second ring, placing it on Eiji’s finger with the same deference as with Ash.  

Sing looked unsure what to do with the third ring; as if it had been planned all along, Ash held Sing’s hand in his own, while Eiji slipped the ring on the younger man’s ring finger as well.  

“ _Okaeri_ ,” Eiji said, squeezing Ash’s and Sing’s hands.  

He closed his eyes, seeming to steel himself, and fixed his gaze on Sing.  

“Also…. another thing I should say. This portrait. It is not called  _Feathers_ ,” he said.  

“Then what’s it actually called?” Ash asked.  

Giving Ash's slim hands a gentle squeeze, Eiji's eyes crinkled into a smile that could only be described as angelic - perfectly betting the symbolic clouds of their portrait.  

“ _Lazarus_ . A man from another mythology, another man who cheated death." 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you again to Atutsie - I love any opportunity to write this pairing. I'm sorry it took me so long to write, but I hope that it was worth the wait! 
> 
> I haven't really written porn before, so this was a huge stepping stone for me! As always, kudos and/or constructive criticism are always appreciated! I hope you enjoyed it! :)


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